“They’ll make short work of me if they learn I am helpless,” he thought dismally. “Oh, I must get away somehow!”
When the fox came closer Harry raised his gun and fired on the creature, killing it. This gave the youth a new idea.
“I’ll fire off a number of light charges,” he said to himself. “Perhaps Joe will hear them, and come here to learn what they mean.”
He had powder enough in his horn for ten half-charges, and he began to discharge his firearm at intervals of three or four minutes each. Then he listened eagerly for some answering sound that would tell him his signals had been heard.
But no answering shot came back, and once again his heart sank, this time lower than ever.
“If Joe heard those shots he would surely fire in return,” he told himself.
Another hour went by, and now it was very dark around him. Harry felt so cold he could stand no longer. He sank down in the snow, his teeth chattering. Then a drowsy feeling crept over him, and he found himself strongly inclined to sleep.
The youth knew he must fight off the feeling—that if he gave way it would probably prove his last sleep on earth.
“They’ll find me frozen stiff, if they ever do get here before the wild animals,” he said to himself. And to keep himself awake he began to sing at the top of his lungs.
“Harry Harry! Have you gone crazy?”